The Future King's Pregnant Mistress

Emily wondered if anything else in her life could ever be as poignant as this. Marco had never, ever asked her for anything, never mind pleaded with her so emotionally! She so wanted to fling herself into his arms and cover his face with passionately joyful kisses as she told him there was nothing she wanted more than to be with him. But how could she?

‘Marco. I'm sorry. I can't.' Her voice was little more than an anguished whisper, but Marco heard it releasing her abruptly and turning away from her. She knew how much it must have cost him to ask her to stay. Given his inbuilt sense of male arrogance and his pride, along with his background and upbringing, she could only marvel that he had.

She got to her feet and said his name unsteadily, but he was already heading back to the car.

‘Marco!' she protested. Please listen to me...'

He stopped walking and turned around. She saw his chest lift as he breathed in sharply and the sadness that filled her was not just for herself, but for both of them. She knew what she had to do, where her responsibility now lay but how could she walk away letting him think that she hadn't wanted to stay with him? She couldn't, she decided frantically. Yes she had her baby to think of and. yes she was afraid of Marcos reaction to the news that she was pregnant. But she loved Marco, too and the knowledge that he wanted her enough to actually ask her to stay was too sweetly precious that she couldn't deny its tremendous effect on her.

She still had to leave, nothing could change that, but she knew she couldn't go away from him without telling him why it was so important that she went.

She took a deep breath; this was the most difficult thing she had ever had to do. I don't want to leave you. Marco. But I have to. You see. I'm having your child. I'm pregnant.'

‘What?’ Marco could feel her words exploding inside his skull as he battled with his own disbelief.

‘I know you told me at the beginning of our relationship that there must not be any accidents.' Emily continued, carefully cutting into the tension of his complete silence, and...and of course I understand now why you said that. The future King of Niroli's bastard isn't the title I want for our baby.'

She gave a small shrug. ‘The truth is I don't want him to have any title at all, and if there is one thing in all of this that I am grateful for it’s that our son wont ever have to live the kind of controlled and confined life you will have to live. What I want for him more than anything else is the kind of personal freedom that you don't have and that you can’t give to your legitimate children. I want him to grow up in a home filled with love, where what matters most is that he finds his own sense of where his life lies and how his talents should be used. I don't want his future to be corrupted by wealth and position. I don't want him to have to carry the burdens I can see you carrying. Marco. I can't give him his father, but I can give him the right to define his own life, and to me that heritage is of far more value than anything your legitimate children will inherit.'

For a few seconds. Marco was too taken aback by what she had said to speak. From the moment of his birth he had been brought up to be aware of the tremendous importance of his role and his family. The thought that someone was not awed and impressed by it was something he found hard to take in. But he could see that Emily meant what she'd said. Senses of isolation and aloneness of having lost something he could never regain, an awareness that somehow, somewhere, he had turned his back on something precious stabbed through him.

With it came the drift of painful memories: of himself as a young boy longing passionately for the freedom to be himself. He could see his father’s struggles and his mothers anguish and of course, his grandfather’s anger. He could also hear the echo of his own childishly piping voice stating defiantly. ‘When I am grown up and I can do what I want. I won’t be a prince!’ But with a kick like an iron-tipped boot, slowly but surely his position and its claims on him had reshaped him. He pictured two small boys, both dark-haired and sturdy, one of them grubby and laughing as he played happily with his friends. The other was sad-eyed and alone, held at a respectful distance by his peers, protected by privilege, or was he imprisoned by it?

What folly was this? Marco forced back the memories, refusing to acknowledge them any more, letting his pride take over instead. ‘You are being naive. No one else will share your views. Emily. In fact, they will think you a fool. And. besides, being King of Niroli is about more than any of those things.’ he retaliated sharply. It’s about making a difference to my people, it’s about leading them to a better future. Do you really think our son, my son. will thank you for denying him his birthright?’